


A Bard's Hands

by gingersnapsandbubblewrap



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Elf/Human Relationship(s), F/F, Oneshot, female commoner elf background, not enough for an e but it's...in there, sexy stuff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-09
Updated: 2019-03-09
Packaged: 2019-11-14 03:18:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18044483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gingersnapsandbubblewrap/pseuds/gingersnapsandbubblewrap
Summary: A bard’s hands are made for many things. For playing a lute or lyre, for example, or for weaving about in the air while telling a story. Down in Orlais a bard’s hands are meant for a decidedly different set of skills, for gripping the handle of a dagger beneath a cloak, for quietly picking a lock or opening a window discreetly, for stealing and bribing and strangling a mark in their sleep before slipping away like a thief in the night.Tonight, however, a bard’s hands are for something else, something they have not done in a long time.





	A Bard's Hands

  A bard’s hands are made for many things. For playing a lute or lyre, for example, or for weaving about in the air while telling a story. Down in Orlais a bard’s hands are meant for a decidedly different set of skills, for gripping the handle of a dagger beneath a cloak, for quietly picking a lock or opening a window discreetly, for stealing and bribing and strangling a mark in their sleep before slipping away like a thief in the night.

  Tonight, however, a bard’s hands are for something else, something they have not done in a long time. Not since before the Chantry in Lothering, before the Blight and the alienage and Marjolaine. Now, those hands lead you to her tent and close the flap. Now they unfasten a layer of thick studded armor, and you think that they tremble a little, just for a second, but as they touch your face, tangle in your hair the tremor is gone.

  Tonight, you peel away layer after layer of Leliana, like you have in the weeks leading up to this encounter. At first, she looks so soft-- her voice, her hair, her eyes, a sweet-tempered Chantry sister with starry-eyed visions of the Maker. You’re surprised to see that she is not as soft to the touch as she first appears. Her hands are rough with callouses, from gripping both the dagger and the steely strings of a lute alike, and underneath her clothes she is made of lean muscle, the scars of a life of fighting writ large across her skin. You think to yourself that this may be something you have in common; despite humans’ fondness for elven features, they are baubles made of sharp glass, all sinew and bone.

  And then, underneath her hardness still lies another layer of softness. Her lips are warm and pliable underneath yours, and make the sweetest sounds when she leans down to whisper in your ear. Your hand moves shyly towards her collarbone, but she takes it in her own and moves it there when she senses your hesitation to go lower. She is remarkably soft there, and she moans while you map out every inch of skin you can find with your fingertips. You feel her tremble again, and despite her hardness being perhaps more honest than the facade of an innocent Chantry sister, you remember too that beneath that lies an equally honest tenderness that you see in her most vulnerable moments. She closes her eyes and you notice her eyelashes are red, too, only a few shades darker than her hair, and you stand on your toes to kiss them.

  You take your time with her stripping away the barriers that have held you so far apart for so long, an elven girl from Denerim so full of anger and a runaway bard so full of guilt, until there is nothing left between you but small murmured noises in the dark of her tent. You find yourself suddenly bereft of any defenses, unsure of how to proceed. You feel your face redden when she asks you what’s wrong and you whisper that you’ve never made it this far, not with a man, certainly not with another woman, before. Leliana hushes you, reassures you that she can take the lead, and you let her, sighing as you feel those hands on you again, those lips, that brush of hair against your face. She unspools your dark hair from its bun and twists it between her fingertips and begins kissing you, first on your mouth and then your neck and then lower still.

  A bard’s hands may be wonderful, but they cannot compare to a bard’s tongue, and oh, _Maker_ , may you die in battle, may the whole world go to shit and die a bloody Blighted death but preserve that heavenly tongue of hers, for you are certain it is the only good thing left on this earth. Leliana, who is always so talkative, is quiet now save for a few moans you can feel through your entire body, and you knit your hands her her hair and can’t stop yourself from crying out loud enough for the whole camp to hear and you can’t care, you’re so far gone. You feel her nails dig in to your thighs as you shudder and arch your back, and Leliana works you slowly down from a shuddering climax. She kisses her way back up your body and you thank her, deliriously, still awash in the daze, and hang on to her as though she was the only anchor in a storm. You fall asleep wrapped in her arms, and for once, you don’t dream of darkspawn or the archdemon or even of the alienage. Drifting off in her arms, you are at peace, a small fragment of safety and home amidst the war and sorrow all around you, and you sleep soundly.

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone! Haven't posted in a while, but I'm still alive and kicking! Let me know what you think and hopefully I'll have time to respond! Best wishes xx


End file.
